The Orange Tree
by Victoria to Worthing
Summary: A postrescue fic, featuring Desmond and Claire. Please review! Chapter 10 finally up!
1. Chapter 1

This will be a Daire story of a few chapters about Claire, Desmond, Charlie, and a few other Losties living in L.A. after they are rescued. It will be a little fluffy and a little sad. It was inspired by the Damien Rice song "Dogs", and bits of Damien Rice songs will begin each chapter. I hope y'all enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or its characters.

_She lives with an orange tree,_

_The girl that does yoga,_

_She picks the dead ones from the ground_

_When we come over_

_And she gives, I get_

_Without giving anything to me_

When asked what he liked about being back in civilization, Desmond always replied that he was happy for the companionship and the food. The personification of these things, for him, was Claire and Charlie's house.

He had settled down in L.A., mostly out of a lack of motivation to make the effort to move. The islanders had been rescued by the project founded by Penelope Widmore, but just a few days before the seemingly hopeless mission succeeded, Penny had been killed in a car accident. This knowledge had floored Desmond with grief and thwarted hopes. She had still loved him, she had been looking for him, and now she was gone. The whole reason he had wanted to find the outside world had disappeared.

He had always suspected that Claire was no stranger to loss, and the way she treated him after this discovery proved it. She let him talk when he wanted to, without forcing it. She checked on him while they were all still at the hotel that Penny's money paid for, the hotel where the press conference about the miraculous survival of the Flight 815 passengers was held. He sat numb on a chenille bedspread while she walked around him, straightening his room and cracking the curtains to let just enough light in. She poured him Scotch and made him change into a clean shirt. She stuck six-month-old Aaron into his arms, claiming that she needed help watching him; he saw her try to hide her grin when Aaron's antics made him smile for the first time since he'd heard the news.

Later, Charlie decided to stay in L.A. for a while to look into the renewed interest in his music that the island fiasco had created. Claire and Aaron stayed with him, of course. Charlie eventually began writing, then recording and promoting for a new solo album. He told Claire that she could stay home with the baby for as long as she wanted, and Claire soon made the little bungalow that Charlie had purchased into a cozy, Bohemian haven.

Desmond watched these developments from the shocking position of suddenly being wealthy. It turned out that Penny had left him a large amount in her will, and he realized that he had no need to worry about how he should make a living.

But he had no idea how he could begin to live again.

Claire showed him. She had him over to the new house and entertained him with the million pretty things that filled her day—Aaron, mostly, in the glory of new discovery and growth that surrounds all babies, but also little pastimes that would ever after remind him distinctly of Claire. She had a potted orange tree that she tended. It had glossy leaves and tiny, sweet oranges that were sometimes all that he wanted to eat. She had also taken up yoga. Every time he came over he found her in some sort of tree or mountain pose, until he finally got curious and let her begin teaching him bits and pieces of it. He would feel his muscles stretch and balance, reminding him that at least his body was whole, and he would see Claire's serene smile, reminding him that he was not alone.

If not for her, he never would have had the energy to keep up with the other islanders, but she had people over, and she included him in gatherings more often that not. Sun and Jin had moved to L.A. to avoid Sun's father, and they often came over for dinner, always immaculately polite and bearing a hostess gift. Jack had returned to his hospital position, unsurprisingly. The part that surprised everyone was the fact that he had brought Juliet home to live with him. The 815 survivors were unnerved by the presence of an Other, but Claire, gracious as always, smoothed Juliet's path to acceptance by having her over frequently and asking her for recipes. Free from the burden of being a mother alone on the island, the quiet friendliness he had always seen in her had blossomed to create a circle of happiness all around her.

This circle surrounded her, with everyone she knew embraced in it, but Desmond soon saw that Charlie was at the center of all that she did. She smiled at everyone, but when she saw Charlie, she looked at him like he was a wonder or a blessing. She checked up on everyone, but she fussed over Charlie. Sometimes Desmond felt like telling her to be careful, but he wasn't sure if this urge came from anything about Charlie himself. Maybe it was a result of the few times he had looked at Claire when she looked at Charlie and seen on her face the expression that Penny used to wear when they were together. A look of complete love and trust. Anything so all-encompassing was dangerous, Desmond had come to believe. He wore his tattered memories like battle scars or armor, depending on the day.

He loved being with Claire, but he hated the moment when he realized that all of her goodness and beauty were not really for him, that they were just the leftover kindnesses of a woman who was not the one he had been waiting for.

Nothing like that could ever be his again.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Same as before—I don't Lost, nor Damien Rice's lyrics! Lyrics still from "Dogs."

_He lives in a little house_

_Inside of a little hill_

Desmond hadn't thought of how it might seem to others when he asked Claire to help him look for a house. He knew that he didn't want to stay in the little apartment he had rented, and he didn't want to go look for a new place alone. Although he knew that Claire had a crowd of people in her life, he didn't really have any closer friend than what she had become to him. When he asked her to help him look at real estate one day, she cheerfully accepted. He came to pick her up at ten in the morning and was surprised when she came out with Aaron's carseat. He had thought that she would probably get a babysitter for him, but he certainly didn't mind having the baby along. He did hope that Aaron wouldn't get too fussy during the day. Desmond mentally shortened the length of time he expected to spend looking that day.

He realized that he might have been presumptuous to ask Claire when they walked into the real estate office and the real estate agent immediately began cooing over how beautiful his "family" was.

"Ooh, what a darling baby! I can see where he gets his good looks." She smiled at Claire and Desmond, her eyes going over both of them equally. Desmond gawked, but Claire just laughed sweetly.

"Claire is… my friend. She's just keeping me company today. This is her son, Aaron." Desmond ran a hand through his hair, feeling truly awkward for the first time in quite a while.

"Oh, I see. Well, they're still beautiful," the realtor chuckled. "Shall we go?"

The first house that the realtor showed them was a large condo, full of light, angles, and clean lines. It was a good size, and quite pleasant, but both Desmond and Claire were oddly reticent in their praise of it.

"It's nice," Claire said, shrugging as best she could with Aaron on her hip. "It's… neat."

"Yes," Desmond replied hesitantly. "I just think it's missing a little… character."

"Yes, exactly. It's not quite you, I think."

Desmond smiled for sheer pleasure in having someone even think that they knew him well enough to determine what was "him" or not.

"Would you like to see something a bit more unique?" the realtor asked solicitously.

"Sounds good!" Claire said cheerfully, then giggled. "I mean, if you want to, Des. Since you're the one buying the house, after all."

Desmond returned her grin. "Sounds good to me, too."

The next house was in a quiet neighborhood, nestled against the side of a small hill. It was older than the condo, and only a little bigger, but Desmond loved it from the moment he saw it. It was painted ivory, with a glossy red front door and shutters. Inside, its carpet was thick and dark green, like a forest floor. The master suite had deep blue carpet and huge windows with a diamond-shaped pattern in the panes. The house seemed to be filled with austere light and cozy corners.

"It's so lovely," Claire sighed when they had finished walking through it. "I would love to live here."

Desmond took a final look around, his gaze catching for a moment on Claire's starry eyes. "So would I."

The deal was closed quickly, and Desmond drove Claire home. They both spent the entire car ride enthusing about the new house.

"I love the carved ceilings. And it looks like you could have a garden if you wanted one," she said, halfway turned in her seat to keep an eye on Aaron. The position made her lean close to Desmond's shoulder, which seemed to be developing a twitch from its proximity to her.

"You should come visit sometimes. I mean you, and Charlie and the baby, of course. You've had me over often enough. I need to return the favor."

"You coming over is a favor," Claire said, patting his steering wheel hand and almost making him swerve the car.

When he reached her house, she invited him in. "Do you want to go through Charlie's record collection? He's just had it sent over from his old place, and it's huge! I'm planning on gorging myself on new music until he comes home."

Desmond accepted, although he said that he could really only stay for a few minutes, and he soon began to enjoy the task of praising, criticizing, and sampling Charlie's music. He realized that the reason that Claire's house was so lovely was the fact that it had so many distractingly pleasant things. Aaron, the music, the blue light that seemed to fill the room as it was refracted through the cobalt vases that sat on each windowsill. The orange tree, the Stargazer lilies in a vase, and always, always Claire herself. There was no room for bad thoughts when there were so many happy ones waiting right in front of him.

"I just remembered," Claire suddenly exclaimed. "I was going to try to make Charlie dinner tonight. Try being the operative word. I'm so horrible in the kitchen!"

"I can help if you'd like. I'm no gourmand, but I've had practice cooking for myself, at least."

"Would you really? You could stay and eat whatever you make."

"Oh, I don't want to intrude. I'm sure you were planning a romantic supper. Wouldn't want to ruin it."

"Romantic? With Aaron throwing peas across the table? Not going to happen. Come on, let's cook." She hopped up from the spot where she had been sitting in a circle of records and headed for the kitchen.

Desmond's good mood lasted exactly until the moment after dinner when he heard Charlie and Claire talking in the kitchen as they washed dishes and he watched the baby in the next room.

"Did you spend all day with Desmond?" Charlie asked as he wiped a plate.

"Well, not all day, just the afternoon, really."

"Are you sure that he… isn't getting the wrong idea?"

"What do you mean, Charlie? Oh…" Desmond winced at the lengthy, astonished pause. "No, it's not like that. You know he's still crazy about Penny. He needs someone."

Desmond felt even worse. Was Claire only his friend out of pity?

"Besides," she added, her sweet voice so low that he could barely hear it. "He makes me happy."

Desmond saw Charlie's questioning head tilt out of the corner of his eye, and Claire quickly added, "You know, we're friends," making her statement sound more casual.

Desmond remembered a Bible verse, out of the Nativity story, where Mary treasured up wonders to ponder in her heart. At that moment, he felt like he could ponder the blessing of making Claire happy for quite a while, and he treasured it in silence as the clinking of dishes went on.


	3. Chapter 3

Same disclaimer, same song.

_Oh and she's always dressed in white_

_She's like an angel, man_

_She burns my eyes_

_Oh and she turns_

_She pulls a smile_

_We drive her round_

_And she drives us wild_

_Oh and she moves like a little girl_

_I become a child, man_

_She moves my world_

_And she gets splashed in rain_

_And turns away_

_and leaves me standing_

When Desmond moved into his house, he asked Claire and Charlie for help. They happily provided it, as well as four extra pairs of hands—Jin, Sun, Jack, and Juliet. He didn't really have enough furniture in his little apartment to require all of that help, so he added another mission to the day—shopping for new furniture to fill his little home.

The group went to the mall for this purpose. Desmond suddenly realized two things as he walked through the crowded shopping center with his friends. First of all, he was in the middle of a happy, laughing group; that was a situation he hadn't really expected to find himself in any time soon. Secondly, everyone in the group except for him was one half of a couple. He felt a little awkward as he realized this. He felt like the seventh wheel, if there was such a thing.

This feeling was soon destroyed by the others, who demanded Desmond's opinion on every piece of furniture they passed and freely offered their own. Soon he had acquired enough furniture to rid his house of its just-moved-in look. His favorite pieces included a red velvet sofa and heavy, antique coffee table. The store offered same-day delivery, so they decided to go out to eat, then go home to wait for the furniture van.

They settled on Mexican food, something with which none of them but Jack had extensive experience. He advised them on what to order, selecting a huge plate of enchiladas, tacos, and tamales for himself.

"I can't believe just being able to order food like this," Juliet sighed, laying her head against Jack's broad shoulder. Jack chuckled and reached up to run his hand across her smooth cheek.

"This food is very… ah…" Jin was much better at English, but he still ran across a few concepts he didn't know how to express. He spoke a word in Korean, and Sun smiled.

"He says it's spicy," she translated. Sun only had a couple of months left in her pregnancy, and she sat far back from the table to accommodate her growing belly. She didn't seem to be having nausea issues anymore—she was packing away nearly as much food as Jack, although she ate in daintier bites.

Charlie was eating chips and telling loud stories about his rock star past and the new tour he was planning. His words suddenly sunk into Desmond's brain.

"A tour?" he said out loud. "Will you be going too, Claire?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "No, I would have a few years ago, but I don't want to make Aaron travel that much. It's hard enough taking care of him in the house."

"Ah, I see," Desmond said, feeling stupid for butting in to ask that question. He had just felt a peculiar dropping feeling in his stomach at the thought of being in L.A. without Claire. He doubted that nearly as many of these friendly gatherings would take place without her here.

A few days later, Desmond woke up in his new bed, inside his fully furnished new house. He was enjoying his new home, except for the occasional feeling he got that he was rattling around in it. He liked being there, but he couldn't help but wish that he wasn't alone. He let himself imagine a scenario where Penny had lived, and had found him. A scenario where she woke up with him in his new bed, and made his little house a home.

He had been pushing back thoughts of Penny lately, hoping that if he lived as if she had never been, he could begin to believe it. He knew that it didn't work that way, but he couldn't help but try. Now, after the first bittersweet ache of thinking of her, he realized that it didn't tear him apart the way it used to. He used to feel physically weak with grief, still cold with the shock of the revelation. Now, he just felt sad. Just a little chilled, and sad.

If he examined his fantasy realistically, he knew that if Penny were with him, they wouldn't be living in his house. It wasn't really to her taste. She would have liked something bigger and newer, or else an antique mansion. She liked pastels and florals, not jewel tones. She would have never liked L.A. (Of course, he wasn't sure if he actually liked it or not. He felt rather like he was living in a bubble that just happened to be located in L.A.)

A few minutes after he woke, he was surprised by the sound of the doorbell ringing. He went to answer it, then smiled as he opened the door to reveal Claire.

"Claire, what are—"

"Surprise!" she cut him off. "I have a housewarming gift for you." She stepped to the side to reveal an object that had been hidden behind her—a smaller version of her own potted orange tree.

"I knew you liked my tree and I thought you might like having one of your own. I mean, the fruit is delicious, and it would look good in your house… and I know it sounds funny, but I thought it might be nice to have something to take care of… even if it's just a tree."

"Thank you, it's wonderful." His smile had remained and grown during her speech. "I'll bring it in. Where do you think I should put it?"

It turned out that she already had one corner in the living room in mind, and they quickly settled the tree there. It looked right at home.

"This is the nicest corner. There's this ray of sunlight right on it. I would do yoga sitting right here if this was my room." Claire sat next to the tree, and Desmond laughed.

"Go ahead if you want to. My corner is your corner."

She assumed the lotus position and closed her eyes. "Hey, do you know why yoga people say 'om'?"

No idea, why?"

"They think that it's the sound of everything in the universe. Isn't it interesting to think of the universe making just one sound?" She closed her eyes as though sobering herself, then burst out laughing. "I'm not sure that I can do it. I think it's a Hindu thing, anyway, and I'm not Hindu." She closed her eyes again. "Ommmmmm…"

Desmond felt like laughing at her pose and sound, but as he looked at her in the clear stream of sunlight, his feelings suddenly changed. All the light was caught in her pale golden hair, reflecting across her white tank top and tanned skin. Her face was calm, with just a hint, a mere promise, of a smile. As she hummed, he could believe that the universe made one sound, and that it was right that she made it—for in this empty time, in this new place, she was his whole world. He came to the sudden realization that he still had a world, a world among the living, even if he had given his heart to someone now dead.

Before he knew what he was doing, he knelt before her, took her outstretched hands in his, and kissed her pink lips. She jumped, startled, but didn't pull back from him. She just sat still, accepting, and then for a moment—or did he imagine it?—brushed her own lips softly against his. Then she leapt back.

"Desmond!" she cried.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." This is what he said, and he meant it, but he couldn't keep himself from leaning forward and pressing one more kiss against the corner of her mouth.

"Desmond, please, don't." She wrenched her hands out of his and cupped his face in her hands, sliding them back to tangle in his still shaggy hair. "If you do that I can't come see you anymore. It wouldn't be right, I mean, with Charlie." She leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "I don't want to be without you. Please, don't do it again. And don't tell Charlie. I'm not mad, just please, don't."

"I won't. I'm sorry. Don't worry. It was just…"

"An impulse?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

"Well, anyone can have those, right?" She laughed, a nervous, unhappy laugh. "Don't worry. I should go."

"Claire…"

"I'm not mad. I'll come back. Just forget this, OK?"

"OK." He wondered how he ever could.

"I don't know if I can forget," she sighed, and his heart leapt. "We can pretend we forgot." She slid out of his room, leaving it empty, but still fuller than when she had arrived. That's how it always was, with Claire.


	4. Chapter 4

Same disclaimer. These lyrics are from the Damien Rice song "Accidental Babies." It seems like I got the idea from the song, but I don't think that I did! It suited very well, haha.

_Well I know I make you cry_

_And I know sometimes you wanna die_

_But do you really feel alive without me?_

_If so, be free_

_If not, leave him for me_

_Before one of us has accidental babies_

Claire stayed away for a week. It was a lonely week that dragged on like his time in the hatch used to do. He went for runs around his neighborhood and cooked meals for himself in his kitchen. He tried to begin writing up his memoirs of his time on the island, but every draft he tried to form began with Penny and ended with Claire, and he didn't want to think about either of them.

After the week of silence, she called him and asked him to come to a party two nights later—a farewell and good luck party for Charlie before he went on tour. He accepted, trying to analyze every nuance of Claire's voice to see if she sounded strange. Like she hated him. Or loved him. Either one.

The party was fun. He brought wine and a plate of oranges from his tree, which was thriving. The former islanders and a crowd of Charlie's "music biz" friends filled out the house and overflowed into the backyard. There was impromptu swimming, and embarrassing drinking games, and many other things that made Desmond feel like an old fogey. He began to worry a little less over his situation with Claire; she came up to him throughout the night, checking on him to make sure he was OK, though she wouldn't admit it. She would introduce him to someone, or tease him, and he would relax a little. By the end of the night, however, he began to notice that she seemed a little strained or worried.

"Are you alright?" he whispered in her ear as she came over to offer him an hors d'oeuvre. She nodded and smiled tightly.

"I'm fine, Desmond."

He studied her for a moment longer. "I don't believe you. What's wrong?"

"Stop. It's nothing."

"So there is an 'it', then?" He knew that he was being annoying, but he worried for her. It was only right, seeing how she wasted so much worry on him.

"Please, stop asking," she finally said.

He couldn't deny an outright request. "All right. I'm sorry. But if you need to talk or anything…"

"I know. Don't you think I know, Des?" She gave him a more genuine, if smaller, smile, squeezed his arm, and walked off to mingle with other guests.

When she showed up at ten the next morning, he was shocked. He had only returned from the party six hours ago and was still in bed when she rang his doorbell, then pounded on the door when he didn't come quickly enough.

He saw her worried face through the little window next to the door and threw it open immediately. "Claire! What is it?"

She just gasped, choked out his name, and burst into tears. Instead of explaining, she held out a small object. He looked closer.

It was a pregnancy test.

"Claire?" he asked again, hesitantly. "What's happened?" He cautiously put his arm around her and led her into the house. He felt his heart breaking at her unhappiness, and sinking at the realization that he may have accidentally made a move on a woman pregnant with someone else's child.

"I thought I was pregnant. And I'm not." She spoke in small bursts of sentences, as though they were hard to get out.

"So you're unhappy?"

"No! I'm glad! And that's why I'm crying!"

For a moment he thought she was being sarcastic, and he gaped in surprise. Then he realized that she was telling the truth.

"Charlie would be so happy if I were. You know he would be. He would probably dedicate an album to it. He loves Aaron, but you know he would want his own baby more. He would have been so glad." A fresh wave of sobs racked her small frame. "And I would have been so miserable!"

"Oh, Claire," Desmond sighed helplessly. He had no idea what to say to all this. He wasn't even accustomed to normal human conversation.

So he didn't speak. He just touched her, something that was distressingly easy to do. He stroked her hair, and laid his arm across her shoulders, and her crying softened a little. Then, by instinct, he reached up to cup her face in his hands and stroked the tears away with his thumb.

His heart pounded as he remembered the last time he had done that—when he saw Penny outside the stadium. The last time he ever saw her.

This was getting way too complicated.

He was distracted from this worry by Claire beginning to speak again.

"I can't trust him, Des," she whispered. "I love him—really, I do—but I can't trust him." She laid her face against his shoulder, hiding her eyes, and continued to speak. "Did you know he used to be a heroin addict? I mean, he's not now, he wouldn't do anything like that, but still. And he's gone all day, and half the night, and I don't think he would ever cheat or anything, but do you realize…"

"What?

"I'm completely dependent on him. I'm not working. I live in his house. I'm in a foreign country, and my family hadn't done anything for me for years before I left Australia anyway. If things ever go bad with us, I won't have anything. Aaron won't have anything. How could I have not thought of this before?" She burrowed into his shoulder, and he put an arm around her to pull her closer.

"I can't handle having another baby right now. I just couldn't. I bet soon Charlie will want to. I wonder if he wants to get married. I bet he thinks we already, like, count as married. But he's still kind of Catholic. He would probably want to get married. But I'm not pregnant." She sighed. "I was so afraid."

"Is that what was wrong last night?"

"Yes. I hated that you could tell. I thought I was doing a good job of hiding it."

"I think we must have a talent for recognizing each other's misery." He kissed the top of her head. (That was a platonic gesture, right?) "And you have a talent for healing it."

"You, too." He felt her breath against his neck when she spoke. He wished she would speak a little more, and stay a long longer.

"What should I do about Charlie?" she sighed. "I care about him, but I don't think that it's right that I rely on him so much. And I don't know if… I mean, I hope but I can't be sure… you never know if these things will last." Her head popped up from his shoulder. "Not that I want to break up with him. Not at all. I'm just speaking generally."

"I know. It's allowed."

"I'm sorry that I dumped all of this on you. I could have told Sun, but she's so happy about her baby. I didn't want to bring her down. She's watching Aaron right now. Charlie left a few hours ago." She pushed her tangled hair back from her face. "I'm sorry for thinking I can just come over and rant at you like this.'

"It's fine. It's always fine. You've done so much for me. I just wish I could help you more."

"What do you think of Charlie?"

Desmond considered this. He tried to eliminate any jealousy over the fact that Charlie had Claire… that is to say, a wonderful woman, or animosity since Charlie had indirectly caused Claire's tears.

"I think he's a good man, and he loves you. But I can see why you would worry. He is gone a lot. And has a past." He paused, feeling hypocritical. "But we all have a past, really." He realized he was rambling. "The point is, it doesn't really matter what I think of Charlie. It matters if you want to be with him, or not."

Claire laid her head against his shoulder again. "I know. I guess I just wanted help. Well, help's the wrong word. I guess I wanted comfort." She smiled, a real Claire smile—weak, and clouded by tears, but still there.

"Did I provide it?" He hoped so much that he had.

"Yes. Definitely. Always."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Always?"

"When I need it."

Her voice was low and husky, and she was still pressed up next to him. He felt his heart begin to pound and his mind begin to spin. He knew that he shouldn't feel this way, but the moment was so perfect. He wanted to keep it forever, divorced from past and future, an eternal embrace.

But it ended all too soon, when Claire got to her feet, picked up her purse, and wiped away the last hint of tears. She talked like she always had, like they were old friends. He let her drift toward the door, and followed her.

"Oh, wait, I just remembered," she said as she was about to exit. "I'm going to the beach tomorrow with Sun. Do you want to go? I mean, I know we spent more than seven months on an island, but I hear L.A. beaches are different. It should be fun, at least."

"Sure. I'll go. Are you OK to drive home?"

"Yeah, I'm all better now." She leaned close to speak into his ear. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Think nothing of it."

It was an unfortunate choice of words, considering that he would think of it all night. He closed the door behind her, then put his hand up to scratch an itch on his ear.

It wasn't an itch—it was Claire's last tear. He wished momentarily that he had a way of saving it, but he shook off the thought and the drop of water and went about the business of his lonely day.


	5. Chapter 5

Same disclaimer, lyrics from DR's "Cannonball."

_Still a little bit of your taste in my mouth_

_Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt_

_Still a little hard to say what's going on_

_Still a little bit of your ghost, your witness_

_Still a little bit of your face I haven't kissed_

_You step a little closer each day_

_That I can't say what's going on_

Desmond was the designated driver for the beach outing, since Claire wanted to sit in the back to take care of Aaron and Sun's belly was getting too big to fit comfortably behind the wheel. "Besides," Claire said on the phone when she called him the night before, "I only have Charlie's SUV to drive, and it makes me nervous to drive someone else's car."

He left his house around 9 AM, stopping by Claire's house first. She answered the door, a bundle of energy, wearing a pink halter top over a bright blue bathing suit and holding a picnic basket.

"Hi! I packed food. Could you carry it while I get Aaron?" The baby in question was already loaded into his carseat. Desmond chuckled as he accepted the basket.

"What?" Claire put her hands on her hips in mock annoyance.

"You're very enthusiastic today."

"Well, I guess I've been missing the beach. And I've never been to a Californiabeach before. It just sounds exciting."

"We'll have fun, yeah?"

She grinned over her shoulder as she locked the door, and his breath caught a little. Sometimes her prettiness caught him unawares. He got used to her, then suddenly he saw her through the eyes of a stranger, saw her smooth skin and beaming smile, her youth and the free way she moved, and for a moment he was not himself. He was only a person seeing Claire, and he couldn't help but admire her. It had nothing to do with their relationship, he told himself.

When they reached Sun's house, she answered the door quickly, but ran around picking up last minute things she'd forgotten. "Sorry! Please forgive me," she called through a doorway as she passed by in search of her sunglasses.

It took a while to reach the beach, but Claire and Sun worked hard to create a fun atmosphere despite the traffic. They played a Beach Boys CD that Claire had discovered in Charlie's collection. Desmond tried to harmonize with Brian Wilson, and the girls laughed at him. Claire danced in the back seat, swinging all that golden hair around, and Desmond pretended that his driving wasn't severely impaired from looking in the rearview mirror to watch her.

Once they reached the public beach, it took a few more minutes of driving around to find a spot that wasn't too crowded. Desmond was amazed at the amount of gear that Claire and Sun had brought. They set up their own little beach oasis—a towel for each of them, Aaron's carseat, a big striped umbrella, a cooler of drinks, and the basket of food that Claire had packed. Sun was wearing a black tank suit that hugged her newly rounded shape; a blue wrap skirt was tied low around her hips. She put sunscreen all over and stuck a rolled-up towel behind her to support her back. She nestled under the umbrella, only her feet exposed to the sun. Claire, by contrast, immediately pulled her tank top and skirt off and lay down on her towel in full sunlight.

"I have gotten so disgustingly pale since I've been here. I'm getting tan today if it kills me."

"You're gonna get a sunburn, sistah. I can already see you turning pink." Desmond was just teasing her, but looking at her body for signs of sunburn made him notice all kind of uncomfortable details. The soft curves of her waist and hips, and all kind of unexpectedly adorable details—her little feet and the outline of her collarbone above her torturously low-cut bikini top. He coughed and looked away.

He had been wearing a short-sleeved blue button down, and he slid it off to feel the sun on his own skin. He sighed at its comforting touch, then turned to toss his shirt onto the towel behind him. He was surprised to see Claire looking at him. When she noticed that he had noticed, she gave him a tight little smile and turned her head to say something to Sun.

He was the first of them to go into the water. He had never really gone swimming on the island. There was too much danger and distraction there. He had forgotten the sweetness of cool ocean water, and he forgot the awkwardness on the shore as he got caught up in swimming. He even bodysurfed a bit, letting the waves carry him to and fro. It was an unusual and not unpleasant feeling—being physically lifted by a force so much stronger than himself.

When he looked back at the shore, he saw Claire sitting in the shallows of the water with Aaron in her lap, laughing as the baby splashed. Sun was walking along the edge of the water looking for shells, setting her hand on her back and bending down extremely slowly and carefully to pick them up.

Desmond let a wave carry him almost to the shore, then waded through the shallows until he stood next to them. "The water's lovely. You ladies should go out a little."

Sun laughed. "I don't think I will today, Desmond."

"Can you show me how to bodysurf?" Claire asked her, squinting into the sun as she looked up at him. "I mean, if you don't mind watching Aaron for a few minutes, Sun."

"Of course. It will be good practice for me," Sun responded quickly. She scooped up the baby, and Desmond offered Claire his hand and hauled her to her feet. When they reached the proper depth for bodysurfing, he began to explain and give tips immediately, but Claire was a little distracted. Right in the middle of his speech on proper timing, she sent a huge spray of water splashing into his face, then chortled evilly.

"Oh, that's how you want to be, huh?" He sent a splash in her direction, and when she continued to retaliate, he flung his arms around her and pinned her arms to her sides. "Running out of ideas?"

She responded by hooking her foot around his ankle and flinging herself backwards, pulling both of them into the waves. They came up laughing and sputtering.

"OK, so we're even now," he gasped, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Let's call a truce." She lay back and let the waves cradle her, floating lightly on the surface of the water. "I want to relax now. Forget the bodysurfing.''

"I was just giving you all that top-notch advice. I can't believe your ingratitude." He kicked his feet up and floated next to her.

"I'm incorrigible, I know." He was momentarily surprised by her sudden wordiness, and she giggled as though she had read his thought. "That's a five-dollar word, right there," she added. She began to swim a lazy backstroke, and he followed suit. When they had gotten just a little deeper, she stopped swimming, then laughed as her body bent and she began to sink. "Oh no, I've run out of floating power." She kicked her feet a little, trying to stay up.

"I can fix that." Desmond stood up next to her and set his hands under her back, barely touching, light as the water's grasp, but enough to keep her afloat. He had moved by instinct, just playing like they had been before, but he suddenly realized that a strange intimacy had come out of nowhere. Somehow Claire lying before him, trusting and open, supported only by his hands, had put them closer than any simple kiss could. He knew that she feel it. Her eyes were on his face, questioning and unblinking, unreadable. But she didn't move away.

They stayed like this for a few minutes, inanimate suspension, held together and supported by the water. Desmond thought about how someone had once told him that animals only lay down on their backs around someone they trusted; otherwise, they protected themselves, stayed on their feet or curled up tight. Then he realized how ridiculous that analogy was and instead thought about how perfectly Claire fit in his arms the few times she had been there.

Finally Claire spoke. "I think I need to feed Aaron pretty soon," she said, not moving, all of her hair fanned out around her head like a mane or a crown, the rays of the sun.

"All right. We should go in."

To his surprise, she didn't stand up. Instead she reached up and put her arms around his neck, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her just above the water, perfectly fitted against him once again.

"Thank you for trying to teach me to bodysurf," she said softly, then slid out of his grasp. They swam back to shore silently. She took Aaron from Sun and retreated under the umbrella to nurse him under a towel thrown across her shoulder. Desmond joined Sun in shell hunting. He seemed to have used up most of his swimming energy.

"Here you go. Thought you might like this one," he said, handing her a pearly pink shell.

"Thank you. I do." She put it into the little bucket she had been using to hold her finds. She seemed to take his sentence as a sign that talking would be acceptable. "So, you and Claire," she said softly.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Yes?"

"You're… close, aren't you?" Sun always wore such tentative expressions. Even her smiles were shy.

"Yes, I guess so. She was very kind to me when I found out that… my girlfriend, I guess, had died. She tries to keep me from being lonely, I know."

Sun's secretive smile grew a little. "Yes. I didn't really know her well on the island. I'm glad that we are all friends now." She looked down into her shell bucket, mixing the pieces in it like poker chips. "I just wondered if you had… I don't know how to say it. If you care for her."

"I… I don't know." He couldn't say that he didn't think of her that way, but he didn't know if it was enough to justify talking about it. It wasn't some grand love affair. Not like Penny. One kiss and a few strange looks were not enough to base anything on. He was probably just lonely.

"If you do, don't tell her. She will know." Sun was looking him in the eyes now, with her own eyes, so big and dark. "And if she returns your feelings… don't press her. Don't do anything if she is still with Charlie." He felt a little offended that she would think so little of him, or think that she knew his feelings, but when he opened his mouth to say so, she quickly explained herself. "I don't mean that you would. I just mean that… if you love her and she loves you, you will be together in the end. And if she tries to be with you and Charlie at the same time, she will only hate herself, and maybe both of you as well. It will become a thing separate from all of you. A… knot. A tangle. It will hurt everyone. It's better to have nothing than to have regret." Her eyes took on a new sheen, the glow of hidden tears, and Desmond wondered why quiet Sun had so much to say about this subject.

"I'm not saying that you have feelings for her or that you would do anything like that. I just wanted to warn you, in case." She looked down, setting her hands on her stomach as though reassuring herself of its promise and comfort.

"All right. I understand. Thank you." He forced a smile, wanting to comfort her. She seemed different all of a sudden—delicate instead of tranquil, fragile instead of graceful. A woman who had been hurt, or had hurt someone, or both. It seemed that truly _everyone_ from the island had a past, even the best of them.

They stayed at the beach long enough for Sun to get drowsy and fall asleep under the umbrella, Aaron to get fussy, and Claire to get thoroughly sunburned. The ride back home was quieter than the ride there had been, but when Sun invited them in for sodas when they reached her house, a little bit of spirit came back into the group.

Sun had turned on music, quiet jazz with singing, and her feet began moving in little dance steps as she poured the drinks. "I used to dance to music like this when my father had parties."

Claire smiled. "With Jin?"

Sun laughed. "No, Jin was a waiter at those parties. We could only dance in secret, and if no one needed any food." Desmond thought about the fancy parties that Charles Widmore would throw, the parties that Penny would try to get him to attend. He had refused, knowing that no one else wanted him there. Now he wished that he had gone. Would it have been so bad, being shunned by a few old CEOs? He could have danced with Penny.

Claire began copying Sun's feet, holding Aaron in front of her like a miniature dance partner. "I've never been to a party where people danced to music like this. We were more likely to thrash around to rock as we all got completely pissed."

Desmond snorted, and Claire looked over at him. "What, were all your parties completely classy?"

"I didn't go to many parties. I went to pubs more. Less dancing, even more drinking."

"Here. I need a partner." Sun walked over to him and held her little hands out invitingly, and he took them and let her teach him the simple steps of a slow dance. She moved like water flowing downhill, as though each movement was a consequence of natural law, ordained before time. She carried him along like the waves had when he bodysurfed.

After a few songs, Sun released his hands and went over to Claire. "May I cut in?" She giggled at her own use of slang and took Aaron out of Claire's arms. "You should try dancing with someone whose feet can touch the floor."

Claire walked over to Desmond slowly, almost as though she was afraid. He felt the same way. Sometimes longing and fear were two sides of the same coin. Anticipation could always go either way.

Then she was in his arms, relaxing and letting him steer her around the living room to the beat of the music. She seemed closer to him than Sun had been, not having a pregnant belly in the way. When Desmond turned her, Sun winked at him over Claire's shoulder. He wanted to return the gesture, but thought Claire might notice, so he just raised his eyebrows and gave her a crooked grin. Apparently Sun knew his wishes better than he did that day.

When he took Claire home, he helped her carry in her gear and set it all in her front hall. "Anything else I can do? I mean, since Charlie is gone." He meant household repairs or shelves she couldn't reach or something, but it had somehow come out sounding suggestive. He wondered if it was an unfortunate coincidence or a Freudian slip.

"No, we're doing OK. Thanks though. And thanks for driving. Thanks for… everything." She was bouncing Aaron, trying to keep him content.

"Don't mention it. It's been a fun day."

"Yes. Very." She switched Aaron to her other arm.

"Well…"

"Well… bye." She walked over to hug him goodbye, and he felt a something like a cool sweat all over him at her sudden nearness. She put one arm awkwardly around him, and his own arms found their way around her waist. The hug lingered longer than it should have. She suddenly closed her eyes and laid her temple against his shoulder.

"Claire," he sighed, not beginning any sentence in particular. He just wanted her name in his mouth as her body was in his arms, as her scent was in his nose, as she was always in his mind.

"Please don't kiss me again," she said suddenly. "I wouldn't be able to stop you."

This was a horribly counterproductive sentence, creating equal impulses to test her resistance and obey her request. Both shame and a powerful yearning. All of Claire's contradictions.

Instead he pulled himself out the hug, letting himself lay his cheek against her hair on the way, then slowly, silently slipped out the door.

He thought about Sun whispering, "She will know." She knew, and he knew, but no one knew just what would happen. He imagined the future unfolding like a maze of corridors and doorways, with himself stumbling through it like a lab rat, chasing something he could not find.


	6. Chapter 6

Same disclaimer. Lyrics are from DR's "I Remember."

_I remember it well_

_The first time that I saw_

_Your head around the door_

_'Cause mine stopped working_

_I remember it well_

_There was wet in your hair_

_I was stood in the stairs _

_And time stopped moving_

_I want you here tonight_

_I want you here_

After the beach excursion, Desmond found himself doing something strange—wishing he could avoid Claire. He had never been in the habit of calling her much, since she had been the one who checked up on him ever since his first grief-stricken days in L.A. He kept up the pattern of not phoning, and every time he saw her familiar number on the Caller ID, he began a terrible internal struggle. He didn't want to see her—it was beginning to hurt more than it helped. Claire was still his friend, but she was also confusion, entanglement, and temptation. He would tell himself not to answer the phone, but then he would begin imagining why she was calling. Maybe Aaron was sick. Maybe a burglar was in her house. Maybe she was dumping Charlie. He would grab the phone at the last minute, full of even more anticipation than usual, and Claire would be speaking in her usual cheerful voice and asking him how he was. She would report on Aaron's latest accomplishments and how long it was until Charlie came home, and he would sag against his kitchen table as he listened, with nothing interesting to say, caught by the trap of caring about Claire once again.

If he was unsuccessful at avoiding her phone calls, he did even worse at avoiding thoughts of her. Somehow almost everything he did had an association with her; when something didn't, he wondered what she would think about it, hypothetically. He tended the orange tree she gave him and went jogging in the streets of the city that only bore a resemblance to home because she had taken care of him there. He dreamed of Penny, then dreamed of Claire comforting him when he woke up from dreams of Penny. She was the reason he was worried and guilty, but since Penny was gone, she had been the only one who made him feel safe. He was lost.

His haze of avoiding-but-not-really-avoiding Claire was brought to an end by Jin and Sun's anniversary party. He had promised to drive her, since it was still ten days until Charlie came home. (Thanks to his inability to screen his calls, he was always hearing about how long it was until Charlie came home. He wondered if Claire really missed him that much, or if she was overcompensating. Maybe she was reminding him of how unavailable she was. He didn't need a reminder.)

He had told Claire that the party was at seven, so he arrived at her house a little more than half an hour before then. When he rang the doorbell, she answered quickly, but he was shocked to see that she was wearing a raggedy sweater and sweatpants, with her hair down and still slightly damp from a shower. The party was potluck and BYOB, in deference to Jin and Sun's limited finances, but they had decided to make it a formal dress party for fun. Desmond knew for a fact that Claire was wearing a black dress and a new pair of shoes, so her dressed-down look was rather incomprehensible.

"Desmond! I thought you were coming at seven!" she squealed.

"No, the party starts at seven. It takes almost half an hour to get there, and I thought that maybe you would want to get there early to help Sun with things."

"Desmond, nobody gets to a party right on time! It's very uncool. The babysitter's not even here yet. And I'm not dressed. And my cake is still in the oven." Claire grabbed two handfuls of her hair and tugged at them in a universal sign of frustrated insanity. "Come in, sit down. Enjoy the show."

Desmond hadn't been looking forward to facing her, but now he couldn't help but begin to be amused. "The show?"

"The show of me running around like a crazy woman. Go sit on the couch or something."

"Why are you wearing a sweater? It's warm outside."

"I'm always cold inside." She ran off, and he wondered just how long it would take her to get ready.

Five minutes later, Claire jogged by holding bottles of milk for Aaron, which she stuck in the refrigerator. A moment later, she came down the stairs holding Aaron himself, cooing to him as she walked. "Mind taking him for a bit? I need to get dressed."

"Sure." Desmond received the baby into his arms, surprised to find that he had missed Aaron during his time avoiding Claire. He had gained a modest repertoire of baby-minding skills from his time with Claire and Charlie, and he managed to keep Aaron from fussing, spitting up, or being injured in any way while Claire got dressed. He even managed to make him giggle a little.

In the midst of this entertainment, a loud beeping sound echoed across the bottom floor of the house. Desmond looked around and realized that it came from the kitchen. "Claire! A timer is going off down here!"

"Oh no! The cake!" This cry was followed by loud bumping sounds as Claire ran down the stairs, then tripped at the bottom and bumped into a table. "Damn!"

Desmond chuckled, turning to make sure that she was OK. He was stunned to see that she seemed to be wearing an extremely skimpy black dress. Then he realized that it was, in fact, a black nylon slip. It would have been provocative in another situation, but in Claire's current state of haste and dishevelment, it was really just amusing.

"Hey, stop staring. I'm almost ready, OK?" She put on a pair of oven mitts, making her ensemble even more unusual. As she leaned in to retrieve the cake, Desmond noticed a bright pink bra strap next to the plain black fabric. That was pretty alluring even WITH the oven mitts. He tried to distract himself with Aaron, but he kept finding his eyes drifting back to Claire. The last time they did, she caught his gaze and smiled.

"Thanks for driving me. I'm sorry we weren't on the same page about the whole time thing." She cast her eyes down, in a look that was either shy or flirtatious.

"Ehm, yeah, no problem." He shook his head a little too emphatically, and watched a glint of amusement appear in Claire's eyes.

"Well, I guess I'll go get dressed, then." She cleared her throat awkwardly and fled back up the stairs, and Desmond hid his eyes against Aaron's cotton-covered shoulder, wondering if he was just imagining the implications of her knowing gaze.

When Claire appeared again, she was dressed in a black cocktail dress, with her hair pulled back loosely, just a few curls framing her sweet face. Desmond let out a low whistle of stunned approval. "You look lovely."

Claire beamed. "Thank you. You look nice, too. I forgot to tell you when you came in."

Then the doorbell rang, heralding the arrival of the babysitter. She was an average, decent-looking young woman, but as soon as the babysitter took Aaron into the next room, Claire grabbed Desmond's sleeve and whispered "Do you think she seems trustworthy? Not like a serial killer? Not like a crazy woman who would kidnap Aaron?"

Desmond laughed. "She seemed fine to me. Does she have good references and everything?"

"Yes, the best. I just can't help but worry. I've never left him without someone I know before. Everyone I know is going to this party!" She sighed, and Desmond felt her breath rush into his ear, like a spirit into someone possessed.

After giving the babysitter a detailed list of instructions, a schedule, and three phone numbers, Claire gathered up the cake she had baked and handed Desmond her present for Jin and Sun—a window box garden of orchids. It was already past seven, but Desmond refrained from commenting.

On the way there, Desmond hummed along to his Beatles CD, tapping his foot against the floor of the car, as Claire finished lining her eyes and adorned her mouth with juicy pink lipstick that made his mouth water.

When they reached Jin and Sun's apartment building, they could hear the party noise from the parking lot, even though the apartment was on the third floor. They saw the lighted windows and heard piano music, and Claire gave Desmond a smile of anticipation. For some reason her gleeful expression made her look young, and Desmond suddenly asked something he had been wondering.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four this fall. Why?"

"Just wondering." Twenty-four. He thought of himself at twenty-four. He hadn't even met Penny then. It seemed like ages ago. It was almost thirteen years ago, to be exact. He suddenly felt like an old geezer.

The door swung open as soon as they rung the doorbell; to Desmond's surprise, neither Sun, nor Jin answered. It was Sayid.

"Sayid!" Claire cried, stepping forward as though to hug him, then realizing that she still had a cake in her hands. "How are you? What are you doing here?"

Sayid's white teeth stood out brightly against his dark skin as he smiled. "I heard about the party and decided to come. I've been… moving around a bit until now." He gave Claire a one-armed hug around the cake, then stuck his hand out to Desmond, who took it happily, receiving a friendly thump on the shoulder along with the handshake. Desmond and Sayid had been wary of each other when they first met on the island; Sayid had reminded Desmond of his failed military days, and Sayid had thought that Desmond was a lazy drunk when he first landed on the beach. They had slowly gained respect for each other, and Desmond had even been sad when Sayid wasn't among the group who stayed in L.A.

Sun appeared behind Sayid, smiling over his shoulder. "Come in!" They obeyed, each greeting Sun with a hug, then following her instructions to put the cake on one table and the gift on another. Jin greeted them when they reached the food table; he was at another table next to it that was covered with bottles. He seemed to have become bartender as well as host. Jack and Juliet were there, as were a few people that Desmond didn't know.

After Sun introduced everyone around, Sayid reappeared next to them. "There is someone I would like you two to meet," Sayid said, his eyes shining in a way that no one had seen since Shannon had died. Really, no one had seen Sayid after they left the island. He had disappeared on a mysterious quest—apparently, he had found what he had been seeking.

He introduced them to Nadia—"an old friend", he said, but a half-hidden smile spread across his face every time he looked at her. Nadia shook hands firmly and looked Desmond straight in the eye as they were introduced, but a smile even less hidden than Sayid's graced her tanned, mysterious face. Desmond saw Claire grin as she assessed the situation, as though she had absorbed a little bit of the warmth of someone else's love and happiness. He had been doing that with her; he had thought that it was because he had been left alone. He wondered if everyone needed a little hit of someone else's joy sometimes, or if something was missing in Claire's life that he didn't know about. The second thought made him worry and gave him a tiny bit of jealous satisfaction at the same time.

He immediately reprimanded his mind for the thought. What did he expect, that he would be better for Claire than Charlie? That he would make her happy in some way that no one else could? He didn't even know if he could handle being in a relationship, after Penny. He had spent so long promising her everything.

These thoughts cast a dark mood over the party for him, making it seem loud instead of fun, too hot instead of cozy. He drank a beer in record time, then reminded himself that all of his guzzling on the island hadn't helped him much; besides, he had to drive Claire home. That was what _really_ made him ask Jin for a glass of water next.

Claire flitted around, making small talk in that way she had. She had used it on him before—disarmingly honest, never pressing, always kind. He wondered if it was a method, or just her. He wondered when his mind had divided itself so evenly between cynicism and blind adoration.

Claire was drinking some sort of pink concoction that she seemed to enjoy a lot, and Desmond got a bit worried when he saw her almost trip on a chair leg on the way to the bathroom.

The party hit its peak when the bartender stepped out from behind the bar to offer a toast to his wife—in English, which clearly surprised Sun as much as anyone else.

"To Sun." Jin held his flute of champagne high. "The woman I love… mother of my child… my life."

The words might have sounded simple or cliché in another context, but Sun was clearly so touched by the effort he had taken to learn them that she flew across the room to put her arms around him, her beaming face peeking over his shoulder and making the guests laugh.

A few minutes after this sweet spectacle, Claire found Desmond and asked if they could go home soon, since she had promised the babysitter that they wouldn't be too late. He agreed, and she went off to say goodbye to everyone, leaving him with Sayid, who had been telling him about a rifle he had seen in a magazine.

"Are you and Claire together? I thought that she and Charlie…" Sayid trailed of awkwardly, and Desmond tried to smile in a way that wouldn't look sardonic.

"No, no, we're not together. She's with Charlie, but he's on tour."

"Ah, for his band? I see." Sayid took a sip of his martini, looking like a Middle Eastern James Bond in his unusually formal outfit. Desmond got an uncomfortable feeling that Sayid was peeking at him out of the corner of his eye, and it was confirmed when Claire came back to tell him that she was ready to leave. Instead of just telling him goodbye, Sayid set a hand on his back and took the opportunity to lean over and whisper, "Don't give up the fight" in his ear.

They drove home mostly in silence, but when they were just a few minutes away from the house, Claire suddenly spoke. "I feel like my mother."

"What?"

"Drunk."

"Oh." Desmond felt curious, sorry… and a tiny bit like laughing at this sudden remark.

"She used to drink, sometimes. I mean, only sometimes. She kind of went through stages."

"I see." He wanted to say something comforting, but Claire was speaking in a light, hollow voice. He wondered why she was telling him this.

"See, she was all alone. Her parents kicked her out when she got pregnant with me, and my father wasn't even from Australia. He was gone before he even knew. I mean, he sent money sometimes, and visited a little, but he had a real family, you know? Not like us. So she had to work, and worry all the time, and sometimes she would get scared." Her voice seemed to be speeding up with each sentence. "She would work like a demon and save money and worry and scrimp and then she would just get tired. She would, like, give up. She'd crash and quit going to work and sleep all day and I'd have to pull her out of bed and make her find a new position. I mean, when I was barely in junior high. And then she started drinking when she got tired." She laughed, a sudden, harsh sound. "And then she drank to calm herself down when she got scared." She put her hands over her face, and Desmond looked over anxiously. He wished she wouldn't hide from him; he could read her face well, but not this strange, cold voice. "I used to hate her. I ran away. Now I'm sorry. She had such a hard time."

He pulled into the driveway of her house and turned off the engine. He unbuckled his seatbelt, but didn't move.

"Oh." A deflated little sound of recognition.

"What is it, Claire?"

"I just realized why I feel like her." Her face emerged from her hands, looking stricken, but dry. "It's not because I'm drinking. It's because I'm scared. I'm alone."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she ran over his words.

"I mean, I know I'm not really. Charlie is only gone for a little while, but still, for now, I'm alone. And really, I could be again. It's not like boyfriends never leave. How would I even take care of Aaron? Now I know how scared she must have been." She looked down at her lap. "I'm sorry for going on like this. I guess I just saw Sun and Jin, and Sayid and Nadia, and I wondered if I would ever be as happy as they are. And then I wondered why I'm not. I mean, I'm happy, but I'm not…" She trailed off, then looked up and saw his face frozen in an expression of nervous attention. "I'm so sorry, Desmond."

He shook his head. "Don't be sorry." He marveled at the layers of pain and fear that dwelt inside her, like rings in a tree or endless caverns in a cave that went down to the center of the world. "You can tell me anything."

Her cold face melted a little, into softer curves. "I want to ask you something."

"Anything."

"Did I really help you, after she died? You said I did, but I was worried that I was just annoying you, or kind of… I don't know, filling up space."

He reached over and grabbed her hand, filling a space that seemed to be forming inside of him. "You helped me more than you'll ever know." _You still help me, you make me remember that it's still better to be alive_, he thought.

"Good. I was thinking, I don't take care of people very much. I mean, Aaron doesn't count, really. The last person I took care of was my mum. After I ran away from her… I think I was always looking for someone to take care of me." She laughed, not as cold as before, but not the sweet peal he knew so well. "Kind of pathetic, really."

"Everyone wants that. It's not pathetic that you're brave enough to admit it."

"Stop being so nice to me. I'll get a big head, or I won't let you go home tonight, or something." She spoke lightly, but he took a brave step of his own.

"Don't let me. I want to stay." Her mouth opened in surprise, and he quickly elaborated. "I could stay in a spare bedroom or something. It's kind of late for me to drive home, and I know you don't like being alone… and I don't either, really." She was still silent. "It was just an idea," he finished lamely.

"You're not just asking because you feel sorry for me? Or think I'll slit my wrists once you leave?" He saw the quirk at the corner of her mouth that lightened the impact of the words.

He gave a startled laugh. "No. I just thought it would be nice."

"It would be nice. Let's go. I bet the babysitter is wondering where we are." She paused. "Oh man, the babysitter. She might get the wrong idea. What if I use her again when Charlie's here and she thinks we're having an affair or something? Oh man!" Her brow furrowed, and he wondered if this attention to such details sprang from guilt, imagination, or extreme virtue.

"Why don't you go pay her and I'll stay out her until she leaves?" Desmond felt shady as soon as he spoke the words. They were sneaking around like secret lovers—all of the trouble, none of the benefits. But really, all of this was a benefit, a blessing he didn't expect. It was worth a little foolish maneuvering.

"Ha, what is this, covert ops? You'd think we were doing something wrong." She hopped out of the car. "I'll see you in a few minutes." She closed the door, then gave him a little wave through the window before she ran off across the lawn, still a little unsteady on her feet from all of her pink drinks, glowing in the light of the street lamps and the elusive shimmer of hope.


	7. Chapter 7

Same disclaimer. Lyrics are from DR's "Sleep, Don't Weep."

_Sleep, don't weep, my sweet love_

_Your face is all wet 'cause our days were rough_

_So do what you must do to fill that hole_

_ Wear another shoe to comfort the soul _

_Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong_

_I think I found a place where I feel I will..._

_Sleep, don't weep, my sweet love_

Desmond waited in the car, leaning his head against the steering wheel as he tried to wrap his mind around this sudden turn of events. Was it sudden, really? He knew that they were close to each other—closer than they would admit, closer than he could explain. He knew that what he wanted was to be with her, in the literal sense and every other. When he was far from her, it was because he was hiding from his secret wish. When he was close to her, nothing else mattered. She lifted the burden of his past. She gave him hope—useless, thwarted, deceitful hope, but all he had. He knew she felt it, too.

When he saw the babysitter walk across the lawn and leave in her car, he slowly unbuckled his seatbelt (why hadn't he done that before?) and made his way to the front door. He knocked instead of ringing the bell, knowing that Aaron would be asleep, and Claire answered almost instantly. She had already changed out of her dress into the sweater she had been wearing earlier, with a tank top underneath and pink pajama pants.

"Still cold?" he asked as he stepped over the threshold.

"Always, unfortunately. I don't think I've been warm in a month." She looked down awkwardly. A month was how long Charlie had been gone.

"Do you want something to eat or drink? I mean, I know we've just had things, but I'm having a Diet Coke and an orange… very healthy, I know."

"An orange would be good, actually. There wasn't much fruit at the party."

"It was lovely though, wasn't it?" She was leaned toward the orange tree, looking over the fruit to pick one for him, her arms crossed across her chest and her sweater bagging around her. He loved this look almost as much as her party finery, because it's how she would look in the mornings or late at night, the times you only see someone if you're close to them. The way he wanted to be, the way he was.

"Here you go." She held out the fruit to him in one hand, looking into his eyes, and he took it without breaking their gaze. He thought of Eve holding about the apple to Adam. No wonder he had taken it.

They sat on the couch and Claire turned on the TV. Desmond hated television, but he liked the opportunity it gave him to look at her without her noticing. She watched Saturday Night Live, giggling at the fake news report, then changed the channel to some station with music videos. She had the TV habits of a teenager, and Desmond got that cradle robber feeling again. She got a hairbrush from upstairs during the commercial break, and his eyes followed its path through the labyrinth of her silky, tangled hair as she combed it out during a lengthy rock video. She had the half-peeled orange balanced on her knee and the Diet Coke on the arm of the couch, and she took alternate bites and sips as she continued the surprisingly lengthy task of straightening out her hair.

"Multi-tasking?" Desmond teased as she carefully set her drink down.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I've got talent." Her cheeky, contagious grin.

She hit a knot in her hair, hissing with pain as the brush tugged on it, and he reached over and extricated the bristles, then righted the knot with gentle fingers.

"Thanks." Her big eyes peered at him over her shoulder.

He scooted a little closer to her and began untangling the remaining knots in her hair, using his fingers more often than the brush. He tried to act like this was normal, like it was nothing, but he was secretly reveling in the scent and feel of her hair, the closeness to her, the quiet house around them. Everything.

When the last tangle was gone and his pretense for the proximity was gone, he sighed and slowly lowered his hands, but he didn't want to move away yet. He lingered for a moment, then jumped in surprise when Claire leaned back, laying her head against his chest.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." She took his motion for discomfort and squirmed away.

"No, no, I was just surprised. It's fine. Come back." He tried to look reassuring and hoped that it didn't come off as desperate.

She slowly leaned back again, and he set his chin on her hair, put his arms around her waist.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," she said quietly, and he felt her little stir of motion with each word.

"Yes?" He didn't let himself wonder what it was.

"Can you think of a good job I could get where I could still be with Aaron?"

He almost laughed at the sudden practical question. It felt like crashing down to earth.

"I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it."

"I know I could work at a daycare and he could be there, too. That doesn't really pay much, though. Some places have nurseries there, but those are more office jobs at big corporations and I'm not sure I could get those. I could work from home, but I don't think I have any skills that I can do at home. Or any good skills at all, really." Her face was tilted up to him, looking at him upside down. The angle was torturous. All he wanted to do was bring his lips down to hers, just once more, just to see what she would do. Just while he had this chance.

"I'm sure you can figure out something. Jobs are becoming more accommodating of family life these days." He sounded like a dry business journal.

"I really want to have a job so that I'm not just mooching off Charlie forever, but I would feel horrible if I left Aaron when I could have stayed with him. I mean, he's only a baby once. I'm so used to being with him all the time now." Her hands covered his hands, still clasped in front of her, his arms a circle with her safe inside it.

"I understand." He laid his cheek against her hair. This situation somehow felt natural and surreal at the same time, both familiar and miraculous.

"This is the first time I've felt warm in a long time." Her voice had taken on a dreamy, contented tone.

"A month?" It was his turn to jerk them back into reality a little.

"No, much longer than that," she whispered, and his mind reeled with sudden understanding, new possibilities. Then she was pulling out of his arms, but not leaving, just turning, leaning close into him, her chest pressed to his, both of them gasping in something like surprise but not quite surprise at all. Her lips were on his lips, and it was like a miracle, but it was also like coming home to somewhere you had lived for years.

The kiss lasted, and grew, and their arms were around each other, his hands in her hair again, tangling his fingers into it, filling his hands with his own ruined work. Penny's hair had been fine and smooth, almost too slippery to get hold of. Claire's felt alive, or like a rope he had grabbed, keeping him anchored. She was always saving him, it seemed.

Then she was in his lap, and he could feel her gasping into his mouth with each movement, his breath following the same ragged pattern. He was always hyperaware of her, but now he felt that he was feeling things with her, moving with her, part of her. He wouldn't be anywhere without her there to see him, to notice him as no one else did now.

Then, over the low hum of the TV, a loud cry echoed. They jumped, still moving as one, then he realized that it was Aaron over the baby monitor that sat on the coffee table. Claire vanished from arms as quickly as she had entered them, already upstairs by the time his breathing was back to normal.

She was up there for a few minutes, feeding the baby, he supposed. (She was somehow lovely doing even that; he imagined her in the dim glow of a nightlight, the curve of her neck as she looked down at Aaron with all her maternal love on her face.)

When she reappeared, she was disheveled, her hair full of rebellious waves and static electricity, her sweater fallen off her shoulder, and he felt a strange sense of pride that he had left visible evidence on her, made her a picture of the passion that had animated them.

"Desmond…" Her voice and pose were full of hesitancy and shame, and he knew that she wasn't happy.

"You don't have to say anything. I'll go." He rose, slow and achy, his legs still tingling from feeling her sweet weight on them.

"No!" She reached out and grabbed his arm. "I just wanted to tell you something. Two things."

"All right." He took the hand that landed on his arm and rubbed it gently. He didn't want her to be cold.

"The first one is… I guess I'd better say the bad thing. I want… well… a lot of things, but… I can't."

"What do you mean?" He got the sinking feeling that he knew what she meant, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. Her words were barely anything. Taken apart, or even together.

"Desmond... we should both stop pretending that we don't want… things, um…"

"I want _things_ very much if by 'things', you mean you." He couldn't help grinning a little. For a minute her face lit up in a sweet schoolgirl blush at his admission, but then the worried look that aged her ten years took over.

"I want you, too," she said, but her tone had no air of finality at the end of the sentence. "It's just… this is Charlie's house. If things are going to change with him, I don't want it to be because I shagged our friend in his bed. I don't want to be the one who did everything wrong. I feel too guilty. Plus, I might be drunk, still." A lame little excuse tacked on.

"You weren't drunk at the beach."

"What happened at the beach? We only… oh, fine, no more pretending. I know. I know it's not that. I just can't feel right about this right now."

Desmond understood, unfortunately. He wished he could disprove what she said, convince her that it didn't matter, resurrect the ghost of her desire that seemed to have vanished when she went upstairs, but he didn't want to make her ashamed. He never wanted her to be hurt, in anyway, not even by herself.

"I didn't know that shagging was an option." He savored the quirk of her mouth as she grinned. "But I understand." He looked down at his hands, tried to appear composed. "What was the other thing?"

"Oh, yeah." She had been standing awkwardly before him, as though giving a speech or presentation, but now she sank down to her knees in front of him, setting her hand on top of his. He felt like asking if she was proposing, but it didn't seem like a good time to joke.

"When I was upstairs, I remembered a dream I had last night." She pushed her hair back, one of her nervous twitches, and continued. "It was one of those stupid dreams where you have to do lots of pointless tasks and they're really urgent. Do you ever have those? I was looking for something all over my house, then I had to learn a song on piano—don't laugh, I know that's weird—and then I had to pick Aaron up somewhere, so I was driving, but it wasn't much like real driving, you know, it was kind of hazy and difficult." She had been looking off into the middle distance, but she looked up at his eyes then. "Don't worry, I'm getting to the point. So I got Aaron from wherever he was, and I was driving, and I kept thinking 'What's missing? What else am I supposed to do? What's wrong?' and then finally I got to this place, a random parking lot by a store or something, and I got out of the car, and it was you." She looked down again, ashamed. "And I saw you and all of a sudden I relaxed all over—because I'd been freaked out the whole dream—and I sort of floated over to you and you put your arms around me and I knew that everything was all right. That I'd been trying to get to you. It was strange."

"That's not so strange." He pushed her hair back before she could, even anticipating her useless habits.

"I know. It should be, but it's not." She leaned her face down to kiss his knuckle. "It's not right, but it's true." They stayed that way for a moment, he sitting like a statue, she kneeling like a supplicant, then she slowly stood. "Well, I'm going to bed."

And she did, no ceremony, no farewell, no instructions on where to sleep. Desmond was puzzled for a moment—and then he wasn't.

He waited a few minutes, then slowly, quietly made his own way up the stairs, following the hallway down to its end, where he knew Claire slept, though he had never entered that sanctum before.

He entered it now, moving slow and steady, leaving time to turn away, or to be turned away. She was in bed, her sweater discarded on the dressing table, her hair spread on the pillow and catching the light of the one small lamp still lit in the room.

"Do you want me to sleep here?" he asked, less nervous than he should have been.

Her quiet voice. "You know I do."

He did know.

"But you don't have to. I know that I'm a ridiculous trollop and the most horrible tease on earth. I make out with you, then make this big deal of how nothing can happen, and now I'm saying…"

"You're not horrible. I understand. We're both tired of sleeping alone."

"Not just alone. Without you."

He felt a strange wave of joy and arousal and inexplicable sorrow, but he tried to ignore it all as he pulled off his stiff shirt and dress pants and slid into the wide bed. Claire stayed far away, apparently trying to give him space in both a literal and metaphorical sense, but he didn't want space. Torturous as it was, he wanted her close to him, on any terms. It had been so long since his orbit had so nearly intersected anyone else's. They were turning together now.

He lay close to her, and after a moment, she rolled into his arms, her head laid on his shoulder, her own arms around his waist. Her body relaxed, and she let out a sigh of relief, just like in her dream. He felt as though he really had been there, not just his presence in her mind. _Everything is all right. We take care of each other._

Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed, and he wondered if she slept, if she dreamed, or if she lay awake like he did, unable to lose a moment of this, trying to press this sweet and unbearable night of chaste passion inside of him like a plaster cast, the shape of this beauty, sleeping with her in the literal sense, making love to her in every other way there was. It was a long night, and he was glad.


	8. Chapter 8

Same disclaimer. Lyrics from DR's "Grey Room."

_Have I still got you to be my open door?_

_Have I still got you to be my sandy shore?_

_Have I still got you to cross my bridge in this storm?_

_Have I still got you to keep me warm?_

Desmond fell asleep some time around dawn. When he woke up, the sun was shining brightly through the windows. He winced, wondered where he was for a moment, then remembered in a rush of sweet anxiety. He rolled over, expecting Claire to be gone. Instead, she was lying next to him, propped up on two pillows, her eyes closed. There was an addition to the scene—Aaron, asleep and cuddled up on her chest.

Desmond smiled at the picture before him. It looked like the kind of dream image found only in baby food advertisements or medieval madonna and child paintings. He cautiously let his mind expand the image a little to include him, as he was, at the edge of it. Man, woman, child. It would have seemed so perfect, if it were really that simple.

He got up, trying to rise slowly so that he wouldn't shake the bed and disturb the sleeping pair, but Claire apparently had the mother instinct of instant wakefulness. Her bright eyes popped open, bleary for a moment, then clear as she recognized him.

"Good morning," he said, grinning a little sheepishly at his failure of stelath.

"Good morning. I didn't mean to go back to sleep…" She sat up, cupping the back of Aaron's head protectively.

Desmond was looking at his shirt and pants, lying crumpled on the floor. He didn't really feel like putting on his formal outfit from the party, but he didn't have any other clothes. He wasn't going to exactly ask to borrow Charlie's sweatpants.

He settled for pulling on his slacks, but leaving his belt and shirt folded by the bed. He looked over at Claire and saw that she was watching him, her lips curled up mysteriously.

What?"

"C'mere." She reached one hand out to him, and he stepped over to take it. To his surprise, she pulled him toward her and gave him a small kiss on the lips. "Just wanted to say good morning."

The smile seemed permanently embedded on his face. "I thought we already said it."

"Not properly." She stood up, slowly, cradling Aaron to keep him from waking. "Do you want breakfast?"

"Sure. I can make it, if you'd like."

"We can make it together." She took his hand again and led him down the kitchen, treading with the slow rhythm of a bride.

Desmond let himself sink into this facsimile of domestic bliss. Aaron woke up during the trip down the stairs, and he cooed happily from his high chair as Claire mixed scrambled eggs with a whisk, a dishtowel tied around her slim waist. Desmond fried the bacon and sliced fruit. He slid up behind her while the bacon crackled and put his hands over the edge of the towel, feeling how perfectly she fit in the curve of his fingers. She tilted her head back to lean it on his shoulder, and just when everything felt perfect, the phone rang.

Claire slid out of his grasp slowly and picked up the receiver. The moment she did, he saw her deflate, the glow leave her face, and he knew who it was on the line.

Her side of the conversation consisted mostly of admiring exclamations—"Oh, really? Ah! Good. Right, then." She finished with, "I'll see you tonight." Tonight?

As she set the phone down, Desmond bit his tongue to keep himself from interrogating her.

"That was Charlie," she said unnecessarily. "He's got a sore throat, so he's cutting the tour short. He's flying out in a few hours and he's going to be home tonight at eight." Her voice was quiet and clipped, and her eyes wouldn't meet his.

"Well, then," Desmond said uselessly. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No. Not at all."

"Do you want me to stay until he gets here?" He didn't know what to ask.

"I want… I don't know." The eggs were burning, so he took the spatula out of her limp hand and rescued them.

"I'll do whatever you want."

"Stop being so nice to me, Desmond. I'm feeling awful right now." She looked anxious for a moment, then chuckled. "I guess that was kind of a stupid thing to say." She smoothed her hands over her face and looked a bit more like herself.

"No. Not really."

"I guess I know what I want."

"Yeah?"

"I want a day with you. I want to spend all day with you and pretend that nothing's wrong and that we're always together like this. I don't want to worry about what will happen when he gets here. I just want to be happy." She took a deep breath. "That's what I want, but I don't want to ask you for that. I know it's silly."

"It's not silly. It's perfect." He felt the lie as soon as he spoke it. "It's perfect, but… we can't go on like this, you know. We can't pretend that there's no future or past."

"I know. This is the last time I'll ever ask." She was wringing her hands, her beacon eyes downcast, leaving him in the dark.

"OK. So let's have our day, then." He began doling out the breakfast, giving her a hearty kiss on the forehead along with her plate.

The day passed all too quickly. They lay on the couch in a tangle of limbs, Aaron nestled between them like a cozy hot water bottle. They lay on the couch while Aaron took his nap, kissing fervently until baby cries over the monitor interrupted them once again. They went out to lunch, then went grocery shopping at the whole foods market, the air heavy with spices and the smell of uncooked wheat. While Aaron took his afternoon nap, they ate orange slices and listened to the White Album, Desmond expostulating on the pros and cons of each song while Claire teased him for being old, laughing with the real, chortling laugh that he so rarely heard. She sat primly in the lotus position, trying to meditate while he tickled her ribs until she couldn't help but smile, then kissed her neck until she couldn't help but moan.

They made dinner together, both of them moving slowly, knowing that the day was about to end. They ate with the slow, deliberate air of prisoners with their last meal, or troubled families in old movies. When seven o'clock rolled around, Desmond hesitantly rose.

"I guess I should be going. What if he comes home early?" Charlie no longer needed a proper name; a masculine pronoun would do the trick.

"Flights are never early. Please don't leave yet." She jumped up from the table and cast herself into his arms, like a child jumping into his mother's arms, like a shipwrecked woman clinging to wreckage.

He smoothed her hair and stayed for another fifty minutes, washing dishes and stealing kisses while he could. He left at last with a long kiss goodbye for Claire, and a little kiss left on Aaron's chubby cheek. He walked to the car slowly. He was holding his belt and shirt, and a plate of leftovers, but somehow his arms felt empty.

He kept thinking of her words—"This is the last time I'll ever ask."

After this, everything would change. It would change, or it would end, and he didn't know what he feared more.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Same disclaimer. This story is a bit AU now in regards to Claire's past with her mother, and Claire and Jack do not know that they're siblings, because when I started writing this, it hadn't been confirmed, haha. Lyrics are from DR's "Volcano."

_What I am to you is not real_

_What I am to you, you do not need_

_What I am to you is not what you mean to me_

_You give me miles and miles of mountains_

_And I'll ask for the sea_

Desmond waited for Claire to call, to show up, to somehow let him know that things either hadn't changed at all or had changed beyond the point of reparation, but it never happened. The next thing he heard about Claire was a week later, in an e-mail from Sun.

He had sent her a message asking after the baby, and her reply, written in too-perfect English, contained the information that she and the baby were all right, but she had been put on bed rest for the last two weeks of her pregnancy. She mentioned that Claire was staying with her to help out while Jin was at work, and Desmond felt his heart pound with a traitorous jolt of hope that Claire's absence from her own little house indicated a some sort of breach from Charlie as well as just help for Sun.

He wanted to see her, but he wanted her to be the one to make the first move toward meeting again. She couldn't doubt how he felt. Surely now the choice was up to her.

His restraint was only tested for a little while, because just a few days after he received Sun's e-mail, he got an excited call from Jin, who was half-shouting various English phrases that indicated that the baby was coming and he was on the way to the hospital. Desmond congratulated and tried to calm Jin, then said that he would go down to the hospital as quickly as he could.

His heart pounded as he drove, but he couldn't pretend that he was only excited about the baby. He knew that Claire would be there, especially since she was staying with Sun, but he firmly told himself that he wouldn't try to talk to her about any of the myriad of things concerning him. This day was not about either of them.

As he'd expected, Claire was one of the first people he saw when he reached the maternity waiting room. Quite unexpectedly, he realized that she had cut her hair to shoulder-length since he last saw her. It looked curlier at this short length, the airy halo it made around her face only adding to her perpetually angelic appearance. Today, though, she looked tired and worn.

"Hello, Claire," he said, not trusting himself to say more.

"Hello, Desmond." She was sitting cross-legged in a plastic chair, with Aaron sleeping across her lap.

Desmond pried his eyes away from Claire long enough to realize that Jack was sitting on the couch across from her.

"Hello, Jack." The two men shook hands. "Is Juliet in with Sun?"

"Yeah, we rushed right over when Sun called. She's so excited. It's been a while since she delivered a baby." Jack's smiled, and the little lines around his eyes showed through his tanned skin. He seemed to smile every time he mentioned Juliet these days.

"I'm sure Sun's glad she's there."

"Do you know if Jin will be here soon? He got to work right as Sun went into labor."

"He called me a little while ago. I don't think it will be too long."

As though on cue, Jin rushed into the waiting room. "Jack! Desmond! Where is Sun?"

"Down that hall. Ask the nurse to take you," Jack said, grinning at Jin's flustered behavior. He thumped Jin on the shoulder before the worried husband darted off to catch the nurse.

Desmond heard a soft, but familiar sound from behind him—Claire's laugh. He was surprised at how perfectly he remembered that sweet sound.

He hesitantly sat down on a chair in between Claire and Jack. A few minutes later, Aaron stirred and started fussing, and Claire pulled a baggie of Cheerios out of her purse and began feeding them to him one by one.

"He's getting big," Desmond commented.

"Yeah, I feel like he's doing something new every time I see him. He has a new tooth, too." Claire's smile was hesitant, but still there.

"Lovely." Desmond pondered how his smiles always seemed to appear when hers did, a reflection or a chain reaction.

After he had eaten most of the Cheerios, Aaron began looking sleepy again.

"I had to wake him up in the middle of his afternoon nap to come here," Claire commented. "It was probably the scariest car ride of his life, too. I feel like I broke a million traffic laws because I was so worried about Sun gasping away in the back seat. I'm usually a really careful driver."

Desmond chuckled, imagining the scene. "So you've been staying with her?" It sounded like small talk, but they both felt the sudden shift of territory.

"Yeah, just for a little while. She had to stay in bed, and Jin has to work a lot, so it seemed like a good idea."

"And how is Charlie doing?" Dangerous territory.

"He's fine, I suppose."

She supposed? He decided not to push it. "I like your hair."

She reached up and tugged at its ends. "Thanks. Yeah, I just felt like a change."

He nodded. He felt like he was waiting for something, for a change big enough to make this worrying worth something.

Claire bent her head over Aaron, who had his eyes closed now, only blinking occasionally in a slow, lazy motion. Desmond thought she would sing a lullaby, but instead she whispered a chant, her voice half-singing, half-speaking. "Om, shanti, shanti, shanti…" Each vowel was drawn out, seeming to linger almost visibly in the sterile hospital air.

"More yoga?" he asked.

"Yeah." Her lips turned up, but she didn't look at him.

"What does it mean?"

"Peace."

"It works. I mean… I feel peaceful." More peaceful than he should feel, given the circumstances. He tried to smile like he was joking, but it didn't work.

"Good." She was looking at him with magic in her eyes, and something wonderful might have happened at that moment if something else wonderful hadn't—Jin burst into the room, wearing scrubs and declaring that he had a daughter.

Everyone hugged him and congratulated him, and an hour later, they were allowed in to see Sun and admire the baby through the glass of the nursery. She was tiny, but healthy, with long, dark eyelashes and pink cheeks like apple blossoms. Jin said that they were going to name her Amanda, because it sounded American and meant "loved." Juliet popped in and out of Sun's room and the nursery, practically glowing with joy as she told them that both Sun and Amanda were healthy, beautiful, perfect. Jack kissed her cheek and everyone else included her in their hugs. Desmond felt, as he so often did, like he wished he could keep a little of her happiness to save for later, like leftover sustenance or an emergency supply of joy. He had felt for a long time that he was relying on saved scraps of contentment to get through the day.

It was during this hustle and bustle that Desmond finally found out what had made Claire so pale, so quiet, so ready to stay in somebody's house and meditate on peace that didn't come.

He was standing next to Sun in the hospital room, and during a rare moment when no one was talking to her, she grabbed his arm and pulled him down to whisper in his ear.

"Claire found things in Charlie's bag. Not heroin, but other things… and he's been going out to parties every night since he got back. He still loves her, but she's tired of it and doesn't know what to do. I knew you'd be wondering what has happened. She's still making up her mind. She's lonely. She'll do what she has to eventually."

"You're quite a woman, giving birth and taking care of your foolish friend all in one day," he teased. "Amanda will be lucky if she grows up just like you."

"I hope she grows up better." Sun had such a sad smile sometimes, but it only took Juliet wheeling the baby in to be held for the first time to banish the shadows from her face.

He stepped out of the way of the bassinet and found himself next to Claire, who wasn't immune to the joy in the room.

"She's beautiful, isn't she? Maybe she and Aaron will grow up and get married or something. That would be cute. Then I'd be related to Sun and Jin." She was half-laughing when she spoke, but she sobered when she saw the searching look on his face. "Did Sun tell you something?"

He almost laughed himself at her quick intuition. "Yes. Just a little."

"You don't need to worry about me. Just my usual screwing up. Story of my life,

basically." Her voice was soft, and the words were such a casual way to describe a lifetime of hurt, to curse herself to even more. "You don't need me, Desmond.'

"I need you to be happy. That's all I need." He paused. "That's a lie. I need everything you have." They were speaking in whispers, inside their own bubble of secrecy and sorrow inside the room full of happiness.

"Not my mistakes."

"I need you more than anything, but I can learn to live without you. Just take care of yourself the way I know you can. He told himself that this might be the last chance he had to tell her, so he did. "And just know I love you."

She didn't answer, but he saw her lips grow tight and her eyes grow teary. Then Jack turned to her to tell her something about the baby, and her mask of happiness slipped back into place.

It wasn't until the silence of the car on the way home that Desmond had the chance to wonder what it was that Sun thought Claire had to do, and if his words had given her peace, or only more sorrow to sing away.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: I was writing this and accidentally erased the end and had to rewrite it! I was so mad. But I rewrote it with some making out, so I hope you enjoy! Sorry for the long wait. Lyrics are from "Amie" by Damien Rice.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Lost or its characters.

_You know when you've found it,_

_There's something I've learned_

_'Cause you feel it when they take it away_

Desmond wanted someone to talk to, someone to tell him what to do, to sort him out. He thought of his father, gone so long ago, giving fatherly advice and remonstration from the chair next to his table full of ashtrays and books.

But as he woke up each morning alone, he realized more and more that no one could quite understand his feelings, and even more than that, no one else could tell him what to do.

So he talked to himself.

Not aloud, lunatic fashion, but on paper, tapping out his thoughts on an antique typewriter. He began with writing whatever passed through his head, but soon he was trying to orient himself, trying to do that task that had been so impossible on the island. Living in a timeless, airless bottle, full of visions and empty of hope. He typed out all that he remembered, a map of his life. He made a story-shaped chart, beginning with a little boy in Scotland and moving through love, fear, work, weapons, and visions. He named every star that had been his compass throughout his life—_Father, Mother, Ruth, God, Penny, honor, the button, Claire (oh, Claire)._

He wrote a book.

He finished it in less than two weeks, his work interrupted only by food, sleep, and solitary strolls around his neighborhood. He didn't live in L.A. for those two weeks. He lived inside himself, navigating his own coasts and waters and marking his way.

When he finished, he read _Our Mutual Friend_. Now he knew that he could only plot his life out backwards. He should save nothing for the future. The future was imaginary, the past was finished and dissected and useless. Only today was his.

This realization made him uncomfortably realize that he hadn't talked to Claire in more than two weeks and that he had no idea how she was, or even where she was living. His new position on living in the present seemed like it would impel him to go to her, because he didn't want to spend any more time without her, but what would it change? She knew he loved her. What could he do but wait?

The day after he completed his book, he realized what he could do. He could send it to her, let her be the first in the world to see it, let her read his factual history and his unforgettable feelings, and then he would know, no matter what she decided, that she had judged him for what he really was and known him truly, as he'd wished to be known for so long. _("I don't even like red," _he thought.

He printed out his book on ordinary computer paper and bound it together haphazardly with string poked through holes gouged out by scissors. He was going to give it to her in person, but he decided against it. He didn't want to see her until he knew she would truly see him—all of him. He mailed it instead, sending it with her name and Jin and Sun's address in case she was still there. (Maybe he was being falsely hopeful.)

It was seven days later when she appeared, and it had seemed an appropriately long time to wait, an expanse of time so long that he could easily believe the world had been created in it.

She drove up alone in Sun's car. Aaron's baby seat was in the backseat, but empty. She emerged slowly, her purse over her shoulder and his manuscript in her hands. He was watching her through the window, and he abandoned the pretense of waiting casually by opening the door before she rang the bell.

When she saw him, she dropped the book, and he jumped, but it was only so that she could grab his hands.

"Please let me talk before I forget everything I have to say," she whispered.

"Of course." Blood rushed through his veins to get into his hands, closer to her.

She took a deep breath before she spoke. "I've been thinking about leaving Charlie for a long time. Partly because of you, but not only because of you. I've been wondering if stranded on an island, all pregnant and alone is really the best way to meet someone and decide to be together. I mean, it started out so uneven, like he was giving me everything." She looked down, then bravely met his eyes again. "And it was wonderful because I felt all alone there until he came to me." A sad smile. "But, you know, it's like that became our whole life, Charlie giving me things and me taking them and me needing him and him loving to be needed. It was always, 'Oh, let me do that, Claire' or 'Don't worry, I'll take care of it' and him giving gifts and helping out and me just taking it all in, and it was nice, but it was like I was waiting for something to happen. I guess I was waiting for him to change, to stop giving me all of his attention, and he did… but that might be my fault. Maybe I couldn't trust his love enough to let it keep on like that. I don't think I could ever trust him, and I don't know if that's his fault or mine, but I know it hurt us. It's not just about the drugs, it's because I never got over the first time I found out he wasn't what I had thought he was."

Desmond squeezed her hand, brushed away her tears, almost forgetting that she was telling him all about her love affair with another man at the sight of her hurt.

"But see, you gave me something so wonderful because when you were so hurt… when we were rescued, you know, and you found out about Penny… you needed me. I did things for you and I was the one who was strong and helpful and it felt good. But it wasn't that simple, because when I was scared that I was pregnant, I came to you, like I needed you. It was like we couldn't help but tell the truth to each other. I've never wanted someone to be with me when I'm sad. That's usually when I push people away, you know, 'Don't bother, I'm fine, it's nothing.' I try to do that to you and it never works."

"I can't hide things from you, either. Not well enough." He felt like his heart was aching with relief even as it burst with anticipation.

"So anyway, the point is… for weeks I've been thinking about what I should do about Charlie, and I've been making this pro-con list in my head, and sort of trying to compare options… like if I leave him, will the relief be better than the pain of having to change everything? If I stay, will the stress and the loneliness and… and being the one always taking everything… will it be worth the love he gives me? Because I know he loves me. I know I… would miss him." The tears flowed again in earnest, but she stifled them to continue. "Then one day I thought of this comparison—'If I stay with him, will it be worth never being with Desmond again?' Because I can't be with you and still be with him… things can't stay the way they have been. I had been imagining all these scenarios and going back and forth between them, but when I thought about never seeing you, I just thought _I can't_. I imagined never talking to you again and never seeing you again and I felt like I was going to throw up. I felt like I couldn't even really imagine what it would be like."

She smiled, looking relieved and unburdened. "I got your book and it was amazing, because you hadn't told me some of the things in it, but it was like they all fit into the way I thought of you, filling in missing pieces, but you were the same person I loved, but now I know you more." She laughed a little, her eyes still unnaturally bright. "Are you sure you want to love me? You still don't know some of the things that would be in my book."

"I'm very sure." He felt frightened of the emotions welling up in him, too big for his body, too big even for his book. He realized he was squeezing her hands, and that she was squeezing back. It took only a little tug to have her in his arms, in the present at last.

"Oh, I meant to tell you." Her voice was muffled against his chest. "I moved out. I mean, I moved into my own apartment. I used the money from the Oceanic lawsuit, but I'm going to get some kind of a job soon. Maybe at a daycare so I can take Aaron. Or I could find a piercing studio that likes babies."

He laughed into her hair. _You could move in with me_, he thought, but didn't say. He knew her more now. He knew that she had mapped out her past and figured out where she wanted to be—standing on her own two feet, and standing with him. He tugged at her hair to tip her face back and answered her good news with a long kiss. Her hands were clinging too his collar, wanting, pulling him closer, and he remembered holding her limp, drowning body in her arms, and bringing her back to life. He remembered her shining in the sun on two different beaches, crying in his house, holding an orange tree. He remembered the path that had brought them here.

She finally broke the kiss when they were both gasping, their chests heaving in tandem against one another. "You," she sighed.

"Yes?" His smiled seemed fixed to his face.

"You need to do something with your book. It's wonderful. I've never read anything like it. Reading it was like… it was like being inside you."

He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb along her cheekbone. "You're already inside me."

She leaned into his touch. "I want to stay."

A/N: This is not the very end… I think I will have to write an epilogue. Please tell me what you think!


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